"I thought you might be hungry," he said, entering without invitation. "You missed breakfast. And lunch."
She sat up slowly, pulling the covers higher. The shift she wore felt too thin, too exposed, but she had nothing else. Her dress from the feast lay ruined on his chamber floor.
"I'm not hungry."
"No?" He set the tray on her bedside table, movements unhurried. "My temper got the better of me yesterday. The oil trick, the resistance of your blood—I reacted poorly."
The words sounded like apology but felt like strategy. She watched him pour wine into two glasses, the liquid dark as garnets.
"I've been thinking about what you are," he said, offering her a glass. When she didn't take it, he set it on the table beside her. "What my brother created. A living vessel for his essence. Quite brilliant, actually."
He moved to the window, looking out at the forest that no longer fully answered to him.
"In the old days," he continued, "before the courts split, before we pretended we were better than our nature, human blood served a purpose beyond pleasure." He turned to face her. "Each drop strengthens our magic. Each feeding sharpens our power. The Night Court ruled for millennia on that strength."
"You don't need it to survive," she said, her voice rough.
"No, we don't need it." He moved closer, sitting in the chair beside her bed. "But iron doesn't need to be sharpened to exist—yet a dull blade is useless. We abandoned the old ways and our magic dulled with it. Became... domesticated."
He leaned forward slightly. "Your blood is particularly interesting. Human essence mixed with fae magic. I wonder—does it strengthen twice as much? Or does that forest taint make it poison to anyone but him?"
The warmth in her chest pulsed with alarm, recognizing threat.
"I tasted your fear and pain last night," he continued. "But blood changes with the body's state. Fear makes it sharp. Pain makes it bitter." He paused, studying her face. "And arousal... arousal makes it sweet. More potent. In the old days, the Night Court would keep favored humans, pleasure them thoroughly before feeding. The power gained from willing, aroused blood could last for weeks."
Her stomach turned. "You can't—"
"Can't?" He moved closer, sitting in the chair beside her bed. "Did my brother tolerate such defiance? You belong to me. With a word I could command you to want me." He paused, studying her face which Briar struggled to keep impassive. "But commands are so... inelegant. And they don't produce authentic responses."
"So I'm going to offer you a choice," he continued. "Come to my bed willingly. Give yourself to me. Let me taste your blood in pleasure rather than pain. Show me what sweetness you're capable of."
"No." The word came out firm despite her fear.
"No?" He leaned back, still casual. "Interesting… then I'll have Eliam brought up from the dungeons. You can watch while I remove pieces of him. Fingers first, I think. Then perhaps an eye. He has two, after all."
The warmth contracted violently, and she felt it pulling desperately southward.
"You're lying," she said. "You need him alive."
"Alive, yes. Whole? That's negotiable." He stood, moving toward the door. "I'll have the guards fetch him now. We can conduct this experiment with him watching. Would that be better? Let him see exactly how his essence responds when you're taken by another?"
"Wait." The word escaped before she could stop it.
He paused, hand on the door. "Yes?"
She couldn't look at him. The warmth in her chest was thrashing, knowing what she was about to do, trying to stop her. But she could picture it too clearly. Eliam chained and helpless, Malus with a blade, the blood and screaming.
"If I... if I come willingly," she said, each word a struggle, "you leave him alone?"
"For now." He returned to stand before her. "Though if you resist, if you fight me, if you make this difficult, well, the deal changes."
She stood on shaking legs, the shift falling to mid-thigh. Every instinct screamed to run, to fight, but where would she go? And Eliam would pay the price.
"Your chambers," she said quietly. "Not here."
Not in the bed where she'd been trying to feel safe. Some small boundary she could maintain.
He smiled, pleased by her negotiation. "As you wish."
